- Part 1 -


Arrhythmia


There's a hole in my pocket where my dreams fell through,
From a sidewalk in the city to the avenue.
There's a leak in my dam 'bout the size of a pin,
And I can't quite remember where the water's getting in.
But when you're wearing on your sleeve all the things you regret,
You can only remember what you want to forget.
-Brandi Carlile


There is an annoying, dull ache behind Aubrey's eyes that prevents her from enjoying the one pro she thought might be left of this 'vacation': sleeping in for an extra hour. It started to become obnoxiously painful at some point during the middle of the night then refused to fade even after a few aspirin. She spent the entire night tossing and turning, drifting in and out of consciousness until sometime around 7 A.M. when she realized that trying to go back to sleep for the umpteenth time was useless. And after a grand thirty minutes of lying in bed wide-awake, trying not to fall off the bed, because Chloe is taking up more room than anyone her size should be capable of, she knows she's going to have to get up and start her day. She doesn't think she can take just lying there any longer, especially since Chloe can't seem to get comfortable either and keeps pushing her closer to the edge. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes hard enough to see stars then drops her arms to her sides and cracks open her eyelids to look up at the off-white ceiling. Thoughts of phone calls and photographs and whether or not she's going to tell Chloe she wants to return home early are maddening mantras in her head that she can't seem to shut off.

She sighs quietly and slowly pushes herself into a sitting position so she's leaning back against her hands then looks around the room. Sunlight streams in through the cracks between the curtains and creates dim lines across the bed and floor. Chloe is sprawled out on her side, diagonally across the mattress, blocking out one of the sun rays with her arm draped over her face. Aubrey turns and reaches behind the bed to adjust the curtain so the light is no longer shining directly on Chloe's face. She fixes the blankets over Chloe's shoulders and smooths down her hair then turns and swings her legs over the edge of the bed, pressing her toes against the cold floor. Her breath catches in a yawn and she rests her elbows on her legs and her head against her hands as she tries to adjust to being awake.

Her head still aches. She presses her fingers against her forehead and her thumbs against her temples for a moment before finally looking up and forcing herself to stand. Goosebumps cover her skin and she rubs her hand up and down her arm as she crosses the room to stand in front of the mirror. She reaches behind her head and wiggles her fingers underneath her hairtie then pulls it out. She slips the tie onto her wrist and shakes her head as her hair falls down over her shoulders. Flyaway strands stick out in multiple directions and she tries to smooth them down then grabs her brush off the dresser and runs it through the loose waves several times. Her eyes drift back to Chloe as she mumbles in her sleep, and she puts her brush back down and pulls her hair back up into a ponytail. Chloe rolls onto her stomach on Aubrey's side of the bed and stretches her arm out to the side, knocking 'Sam' on the floor.

Aubrey looks back into the mirror and makes sure her hair is no longer messy then walks back around the bed again. She bends over and picks the bear up by its ear, barely giving it a second glance as she places it beside Chloe again. She stifles another yawn and rubs her nose with the back of her hand as she turns her back to the bed and moves to squat down in front of the dresser. It takes her a fraction of a second to remember which drawers contain which of her clothes. She opens the bottom, left drawer and pulls out a pair of grey running pants and a matching jacket. She grabs a purple short-sleeved shirt to wear as well then places them on top of the dresser as she gets back to her feet. Her back is to the room as she crosses her arms in front of her and strips off her pajama shirt then removes her shorts as well. It feels like she's running on autopilot this morning. She folds her pajamas and places them in the top drawer then grabs a bra from the same drawer and slides it on, taking a moment to adjust the straps before she methodically pulls on the rest of her clothes as well – her shirt followed by her pants followed by her jacket. She adjusts the holes in the sleeves over her thumbs then crosses her arms and shoots once last glance toward Chloe before padding out of the bedroom on her way to the kitchen.

The previous night plagues her and she adamantly blames Beca. She slides one of her hands up her arm and grips her jacket sleeve near her shoulder as she walks into the kitchen and stops in front of the refrigerator, placing her other hand on the handle. Rather than opening it, her hand just lingers and she looks over at the cupboard door. She wraps her fingers around the handle and tilts her head downward, diverting her gaze to the floor. It would be so easy to just walk a few steps across the floor and check the trash. She doesn't know what bothers her more; the prospect of Beca purposely hurting her, fear of last night's exhaustion driving her to the brink of insanity, or not knowing. She licks her lips then presses them together and taps her fingernails against the back of the handle. She drops her hand from the refrigerator door. If the photo is there, she'll at least have a good reason to convince Chloe to go home without feeling like a bitch.

She draws in a deep breath as she turns and crosses the few steps over to the cupboard. It's just a photograph, so she doesn't know why she feels so uneasy. Maybe because even just the thought of Beca entering her room feels like an uncomfortable invasion of her and Chloe's personal space. She pulls open the cupboard door and holds her breath as she tips the trashcan forward to peer inside.

The bag is empty.

The breath she lets out doesn't contain any relief. Her hand falls from the edge of the can and it drops back to its original position. Her nostrils flare as the anger she wishes she could direct at Beca is turned inward and at herself instead. She glances at the refrigerator where she could have sworn she peeled the photo from last night then slams the cupboard door shut a little too forcefully. She may be stressed over her location, but she knows she's not crazy. She tries to reassure herself that a lot of people imagine things when they're as tired as she was the previous night. It doesn't help. She flings open the refrigerator and snatches a bottle of water then slams it shut again and stalks outside, after putting her shoes on at the door, to clear her head.

xxxxx

The island contains a quaint little town full of summer homes that make the place seem deserted now that autumn is swiftly approaching. The majority of the shops have their lights off and 'closed' signs in their empty display windows. Aubrey jogs down the main road, past the far and few between locals who are enjoying the cool morning. She feels better when she's running and doesn't have to think about anything other than keeping a steady pace. The rush of endorphins doesn't hurt either. Her head, despite it still pounding, feels drastically clearer within the first quarter mile. This place isn't so bad when she's alone and away from the wedding party. It's actually rather calming with its scenic, vacant streets. She turns onto another block then slows down to a walk, taking a moment to catch her breath and take a swig from her water bottle. She swallows the cold liquid then wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand, looking down at the bottle as she does so.

"Hey!"

Aubrey snaps her head up at the gruff voice. She glances around in search of its source then turns to face the island's Maritime Museum. A man who she recognizes as the sheriff from the bar is standing in the doorway. She keeps her hand pressed against her mouth as she looks around to see who else he might be addressing then lowers it when she realizes he's talking to her. She quickly caps the water bottle and looks at the sheriff in confusion. She's probably going to have to pay for that glass she broke with the cue ball.

"Get over here." The sheriff motions her to the building with his hand.

Aubrey realizes that she's just standing there like a deer caught in headlights. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment and she silently curses her sudden incompetency. "Yes, Sir," she obeys immediately and straightens her posture as she quickly crosses the road to the museum. "I'm sorry," she apologizes when she stops in front of him. She draws in a deep breath. "Sir, if this is about the bar, I can pay for-"

"Whatever happened at The Cannery can stay at The Cannery," the sheriff cuts her off. "Sheriff Mills," he introduces himself. "You with that wedding party?"

Aubrey's not sure what to make of the situation if it's not about the bar, but she immediately nods her head. "Aubrey Posen," she introduces herself back.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, Aubrey," Mills states. He steps through the doorway and into the museum.

Aubrey is rooted to her spot. She knows better than to disobey authority, but her knowledge not to follow strange men into empty buildings leads to an internal conflict. She tries to speak, but her words just catch in her throat when she realizes that she doesn't have a good enough excuse to leave other than that she doesn't trust him. It should be a good enough reason to run in the opposite direction, but she doesn't want to start her day off with being slapped in handcuffs. Though she is sure Chloe would get a kick out of bailing her almost-lawyer friend out of jail.

"Do you want to see my badge up close?" Mills plucks his badge from his shirt and holds it up. His voice has an impatient edge to it that tells Aubrey not to test him.

She forces a tight smile and shakes her head. "No, Sir," she answers and steps forward with false confidence. Something doesn't feel right, but she hopes that she can handle herself.

"Careful for the glass," he warns her and holds out a hand to stop her from walking.

Aubrey looks down and realizes that there are shimmering shards of glass scattered all over the floor by the door. She twists her hands around her water bottle as she steps over them then looks to see where they originated from. There is a glass panel missing from the front door, directly above the doorknob. She glances around the museum, expecting to see a mess from a break-in, but everything seems to be in place.

"I got one of the kids from that group," Mills states.

Aubrey frowns. She is hardly a kid anymore. Although she may be young enough to be his kid. She looks up to see who he is talking to – another man in his mid to late forties, presumably the museum's owner. He strikes Aubrey as the Average Joe, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans with thick framed glasses and no unique features. She looks back and forth between him and Mills, who is about a head shorter, plumper, and clad in a tan uniform. Average Joe eyes her suspiciously and she boldly meets his gaze. She's not the one who broke in after all.

"What time'd you close up yesterday?" Mills inquires.

Joe looks away from Aubrey. "We're done for the season, but I was here til about four," he answers. He sighs and runs his hand over his greying hair. "Wasn't broken when I left."

Aubrey scans the books on a shelf while listening in on their conversation. The majority of them are about fishing. She glances to the left at a wide array of boating equipment. She doesn't see anything that she can imagine being worth taking.

"Just one item missing?" Mills asks.

"Just the head spade as far as I can tell," Joe answers. "I haven't done a full inventory or anything."

Mills nods in Aubrey's direction and draws her attention back in. "The group of you, you Sorority and Fraternity kids?"

Aubrey blinks and is slightly taken aback by his question. She's used to people judging her and assuming she was in a Sorority, but Mills obviously hasn't gotten an up-close look at anyone in her group aside from herself and Luke. "Most of us are from A Cappella teams, Sir," she corrects him.

"A Ca-what?" Mills asks. He pokes his finger in his ear and rubs it around.

"We sing," Aubrey elaborates. She twists the cap around her water bottle. "But-"

"Do you know what a head spade is?" Mills interrupts.

Aubrey clenches her jaw when he rudely cuts her off before she can explain that they've all graduated. She follows Joe's gaze to an empty space on one of the walls where she realizes this so called head spade must have been located. "No, Sir," she answers with a shake of her head and looks at Mills again. She wants to tell him that if he's thinking of accusing anyone in her group of taking it, that no one would, but she doesn't know about the people outside of the Bellas and the Trebles. "Do you think someone from the wedding party stole it?" she questions, more curious than offended.

Mills and Joe share a look that confirms her assumption. Joe steps away from the two of them and pulls a book down from one of the shelves.

"Wait, you don't think I stole, do you?" Aubrey blurts out the moment the possibility hits her. She points to herself and looks back and forth between them with slightly widened eyes. She knows she was rather 'rowdy' at the bar, but she doesn't think she did anything to warrant a theft accusation – unless Luke left without paying for their drinks. She realizes that if they think she stole their head spade, she needs to stop speaking before they potentially hold something she says against her.

The sheriff looks at her and snorts in amusement. "You're a good egg, Kid," he informs her simply. He follows Joe around a table and leans over the book as Joe begins to flip through the pages.

Aubrey doesn't know what to say, so she settles for a perplexed, "Aca-scuse me?" He had been there to witness her nearly get herself and Beca thrown out of the bar. She should have to work to get back in his good graces.

"I know a good egg when I see one," Mills states. He slaps his large hand down on the book when Joe finds the page he's looking for. He uses his other hand to motion her over to the table.

Aubrey stares at him. She doesn't follow; not when she has done nothing to prove herself. Her brows furrow. "Thank you, Sir," she says slowly and drags out the words, although she doesn't expect an explanation. Whether or not she is a good or rotten egg is not the important matter at hand here. She steps forward and looks at the two men in front of her then looks down at the book. On one page there are words and on the other there is a picture of what she presumes is a head spade. She looks at the words first.

HEAD SPADE: A head spade is an instrument used in whaling. It is the heaviest spade used in the process of cutting up a whale, with the entire length (with pole) measuring approximately 1 meter, or 3.5 feet. It is used to facilitate the chopping of large bones, such as the vertebrae. Due to its shape and size, it could be thrust straight, as well as swung like an axe.
USE IN WHALING: The head spade is used to break the whale into smaller, easier to manage sections during and following flensing (the skinning process). It is primarily used to facilitate separating a whale's head from its body, by thrusting it through several layers of blubber and muscle until striking the vertebrae.
Other prominent whaling instruments include a variety of other spades, the harpoon, the blubber spike, and the gaff.

The picture looks like a metal oar with the flat end containing sharp edges on all three sides. Her lips form an 'o' shape as she stares at it in interest. She's heard of people poaching whales, but it's not exactly the kind of crime she's exposed to in the city. She can't imagine anyone in her group stealing such a thing, unless the Trebles plan to go on a whaling excursion. In that case, she hopes Moby Dick swallows them whole. She looks back up and tries to gage what the sheriff and museum owner want from her.

"You see this, you give me a call, you understand?" Mills pulls a business card out of his pocket and offers it to her.

Aubrey straightens up and glances at the number on the card. "I will, Sir," she replies almost eagerly and slips the card into her jacket pocket. She proudly lifts her chin. "You can count on me." She looks at Mills again and waits to be dismissed.

Mills turns back to Joe. "Anything else goes missing, give me a shout, okay?" He tips his hat at him then starts back out of the museum.

"Yeah," Joe murmurs and turns back to his inventory.

Aubrey glances at Joe then turns and follows Mills out of the museum. She maneuvers back over the glass then steps back down on the asphalt. "I honestly don't think anyone I know stole the head spade, Sir," she comments when she's out of Joe's hearing range. It's a mixture of sincerely not being able to picture anyone stealing that and loyalty for her group. She may not like the majority of the wedding party, but they do still hold some of her trust and respect in certain areas.

Mills sighs and looks at the museum. "You see anything, you let me know," he just repeats himself. He turns and gives her a light slap on the shoulder, not seeming to notice when her muscles tense and she instinctively leans away from the physical contact. "See ya 'round, Kid."

Aubrey watches him as he simply walks away from her. He crosses the road to his truck and unlocks the door with a key then climbs inside. He shuts his door then leans out the window and addresses her again.

"There's a jogging path 'bout two blocks that way," Mills says and points in the direction his truck is facing. "I sent one of your friends out there earlier. Just don't venture off the path. Got some old huntin' traps out there."

Aubrey can't stop a smile from creeping up on her face. The city is seriously void of jogging paths. "Thank you, Sir," says earnestly.

"Name's Charlie," he replies and pats the door of his truck then turns on the engine.

Aubrey blinks. "Sorry, Sir," she apologizes immediately. It clicks after a fraction of a second that he was probably requesting she not call him 'Sir'. "Charlie," she corrects herself. "Sir" slips out again before she knows what she's saying and she abruptly stops before getting to the 'r'. She straightens her posture to give addressing him one more shot, but he seems to have a habit of cutting people off before they can speak.

"You're a good egg," Charlie says again and shakes his head. He pulls back into his truck and gives her a brief wave before he drives off.

Aubrey lets out a breath and stares at the back of the truck as it gets smaller in the distance then turns down another street. She drops her arms down by her sides and taps her thigh with the water bottle.

The sun is rising higher in the sky, and she finds herself suddenly alone again in the middle of town. The warmth of the rays on her face tears her thoughts away from the head spade and the sheriff, but she makes it her mission to determine whether or not anyone she knows stole the thing. In the meantime, she needs to finish her jog and get back to wake Chloe before breakfast is over. She turns in the direction Mills told her to go in and just hopes that her 'friend' isn't Beca or a Treble.